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Saturday, April 23, 2016

OH! WHEN WILL WE EVER LEARN...

Villers-Bretonneux

A. B. Facey

No doubt everyone in Australia and our good
neighbor, New Zealand is aware, or should be, ANZAC Day, 25th April
falls on Monday. This, of course, means this weekend is a long weekend.

Let’s not forget the important reason for
it being a long weekend.ANZAC Day.

A favourite book of mine is A.B. Facey’s “A
Fortunate Life”.It’s not what one would
call a “big” book, but it is a big story of a simple, good man’s life; a life
filled with a wealth of experiences; a life that wasn’t always easy.The autobiography was published in 1981, nine
months before Albert Facey’s death at the age of 88.

Born in Victoria, at the age of five years,
after the death of his father, Albert (Bert) Facey, along with three of his
older siblings, was sent to Western Australia where the brothers were raised in
the care of their grandmother.

Facey began working when he was eight. With
little education he could neither read nor write. By the age of 14 he was an
experienced bushman. Aged 18, he was a professional boxer.

In
August 1914, when Albert was nearly 20 years old news came through Britain was
at war with Germany. Facey was in New South Wales at the time with his boxing
troupe. The air was rife with talk Australia was sending a force of 20,000
troops to aid the British. Knowing he was fit, and lured by the thought of
travelling overseas, Facey, like thousands of other young men, decided to
volunteer.He travelled back to his home
state of Western Australia to enlist.

In early February, 1915, along with his
battalion, on board the troopship “Itonus” Facey headed for the Middle
East.One of his older brothers, Joseph
had set sail five days earlier. Roy, another brother had also enlisted.

Bert Facey lost a lot of his mates and had
witnessed many men perish.

On 28th June, 1915 Roy was blown
apart in an explosion. When Roy was killed Bert went through the harrowing
experience of helping bury his brother, side by side in a grave with fifteen of
his mates; something none of us could ever imagine having to do; should never
have to do. The clearing where the bodies were interred was named “Shell Green”.

A.B. Facey was badly injured at Gallipoli
on 19th August, 1915, when a shell, lobbed into the parapet of his trench,
exploded. His mate was killed.

Facey suffered internal injuries and a
crushed right leg. A bullet also struck him in the shoulder.He’d been at Gallipoli six days short of four
months.

During his recuperation in a converted
sports arena in Cairo the Aussies called “Luna Park” Facey turned 21.He told no one. It wasn’t a time for
celebration.

While convalescing he was told his brother
Joseph had been killed. Joseph was bayoneted while on guard duty at an outpost.

In November 1915, Bert arrived in
Fremantle. He returned to hospital. His injuries caused him severe problems for
the rest of his life. He was discharged from the Army in June, 1916. During his rehabilitation in Perth Bert met
his future wife. After marrying in 1916 they had seven children, the eldest of
whom was killed in the Second World War. Bert and his wife had 28
grandchildren.

One Sunday afternoon in 1989 a couple of
friends and I visited the Mountain View Hotel at Gordonvale, south of Cairns; a
wonderful old country pub.My interest
was alerted when I learned the groundsman/barman’s surname was “Facey”. He and
I had a lengthy conversation. A. B. Facey had been his great-uncle.

I’ve always been grateful I asked the
question of the fellow…”You might think this a silly question, but are you
related to A.B. Facey, the author of “A Fortunate Life?”

The war ended for Bert Facey when he was injured in 1915.
He had no other choice but to return to Australia to be rehabilitated; but
sadly, the war didn’t end at Gallipoli.The
“war to end all wars” dragged on and on.

Australia’s 1st, 2nd and 4th
Divisions having withdrawn from the horrors of Gallipoli were sent to the
French countryside…at the Western Front to help the French who were suffering
badly. If they thought the eight months of the horrific battle at Gallipoli were bad, worse
lay ahead with the Battle of Fromelles and the Battle of Pozieres during 1916.

In one night alone there were more than 5500 Australian
casualties. In six weeks of battle around Pozieres the casualty count was
equivalent to hellish eight months of Gallipoli.

1917 arrived. The Australians were again heavily engaged: at
Bapaume; at Bullecourt and Messines and in the latter part of the year, in the
Ypres offensive – Menin Road, Polygon Wood, Broodseinde, Poelcapelle and
Passchendaele.

In 1918 the Aussies and the Brits reclaimed
Villers-Bretonneux from the Germans. The fighting that commenced in 1914
finally ended in November, 1918.

Few of the original
ANZACS of 1915 remained. Australia and New Zealand lost far too many of their
young men.And, a great number returned
home bearing injuries, both physical and mental; injuries and disturbing,
unimaginable images that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.Ghosts of the conflicts tormented…..

Sadly, wars have continued – they didn’t end with the “Great
War”. We look back on history, and too
often we discover humans haven’t learned a thing.....

I guess so...but ANZAC Day, for me is a very sad time - it always puts me in a very solemn mood; but that's just me...how I am. No reflection on you, River.

Even writing my post made me misty-eyed...and from the Dawn Service tomorrow morning, through to watching the Anzac Parade on ABC TV, through to the Gallipoli Dawn Service and the Dawn Service at Villers-Bretonneux - that will be the majority of my day; and the majority of that time my tears won't be far away. That is how I devote my time every ANZAC Day.

As I said...that's just me. I'm not a religious person, but to me ANZAC Day is the day I revere most in any given year.

A timely, heartfelt post ahead of ANZAC Day. I wish we had a public holiday like that in Great Britain - instead of what we call "bank holidays". Who cares about banks? We should be honouring our brave dead - the boys who never came home - just as Americans do on Memorial Day.

My late brother Gtaham and I always made a wreath with the chrysanthemums from our garden and we'd place it on the Memorial Gates at Gympie every ANZAC Day morning. Nana and Mum always took us along to the service which was held at the Memorial Gates...every year without fail.

Hello Margaret, It's impossible to imagine what they went through, isn't it?

In my post I didn't go into detail about the death of Roy Facey who was killed in an explosion...before Bert buried his brother, he, Bert, had to search - to find pieces of his brother's blown apart body. I can't find - I don't have the words to describe what that would be like....

ANZAC Day is the most special day of the year to me. So sad. On this day I always feel immense sadness. I cried buckets at the dawn service this morning, like I do every year. My daughter's partner is in the army so it holds even more importance to us this year. Lest we forget.

G'Day RK....There are some, unfortunately, who think only of themselves; they're the centre of their worlds and have no understanding the sacrifices made by others so they can enjoy the freedoms of life that they do. They're blind, thoughtless and ignorant.

This is a very sad day...it is always is for me...it is one I revere the most.

The older I get the more I despair about the human race learning anything. I was watching a TV programme about the unbelievable mess that has been made in Afghanistan by foreign intervention for years, and the short sighted meddling that is still going on. Aargh! But thank you for reminding me of Anzac day. Of course it is not celebrated as much here as in your part of the world, but it should still be remembered.

Hello Jenny...the older I get the more I despair, too...the way humans behave upsets me more and more. Lessons are never learned; hate and violence continues.

I spent the majority of yesterday feeling very sad; depressed and teary. ANZAC Day is a very important date of on our Aussie calendar and on the New Zealand calendar. We must always honour those who have sacrificed so much;and those who still do.